


Blame It On Your

by SensibleNonsense



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Bad Jokes, Established Relationship, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Ronan Lynch, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, but make it sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SensibleNonsense/pseuds/SensibleNonsense
Summary: These were secrets that Ronan guarded jealously. And he’d be god-fucking-damned if Adam was ever ashamed of feeling good.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 9
Kudos: 269





	Blame It On Your

**Author's Note:**

> In which I bravely out myself as seeing Ronan as someone who prefers to top, tbh.

Adam liked to bottom more than Ronan did. This wasn’t generally an issue, except when it was.

It wasn’t like they fucked that way all that often — hands and mouths and grinding felt just as good and — and this is key—didn’t require pre-planning. And it wasn’t like Ronan never played catcher. When he did, that was good, too. (Hell, better than _good_ ; it was Adam.) But it didn’t light him up the same way it seemed to do Adam.

Getting fucked wasn’t something he put much thought or energy into. Which meant he didn’t prep for it. Which meant he didn’t prep for it unless Adam started dropping hints.

But Adam thought about it. And, being Adam, thought about thinking about it. The fact that he liked it more than Ronan did sometimes made him insecure and defensive, which, predictably, lead to him saying something shitty.

“I mean, you’re the gay one — shouldn’t _you_ like taking it more?”

They blinked at each other. It was late on a Sunday evening, and they were at the kitchen table talking shit.

If Blue to were to hear about this (she never would), she would have called it classic case of internalized homophobia. It was misogyny which labeled the person being penetrated as feminine, and feminine as inherently lesser-than. It wasn’t like what position you liked in bed encompassed everything you were as a person. Pretty far from it. This was something Ronan understood on an instinctual level, and which Adam, on a purely logical level, could convince himself of most of the time.

But words weren’t Ronan’s forte, so what came out of his mouth was:

“Seems pretty fucking gay to worry about it.”

He meant it equally as an insult and a joke. And he was ready to fight about it.

Adam started at him for a second, then burst into laughter. He hid his face in his arms on the table and groaned, “Sorry, that was a pretty shitty thing to say.”

“Hey, as long as that’s the only shit involved.”

The look on Adam’s face had been priceless. Definitely worth ending up being chased half-way across the farm and shoved fully-clothed in the swimming hole.

The truth was, if Adam hadn’t liked getting fucked, Ronan is pretty sure he’d be just as happy. Everything that involved Adam, Ronan, and Adam’s and Ronan’s dicks was pretty spectacular as far as Ronan was concerned. Ronan knew the type of google searches he'd personally had to do to when he'd first been on the receiving end, so he had some idea of what Adam was up to, but every body was different. He had never asked, and Adam didn’t seem overly eager to share. He honestly didn’t know how Adam made space in his brain to keep track of yet another routine.

Eventually they hauled themselves out of the swimming hole and ended up, that same honey-warm afternoon, tangled in the sheets of the thunderhead cloud bed with Ronan’s dick up Adam’s ass.

He kept it steady and regular, firm strokes in and long slides out. Deep, recurring pressure in the places that wanted it most.

Being inside — fuck, _inside_ — Adam was deliriously good — velvety wet and squeezing _tight_. Adam didn’t speak much, just harsh exhales and little moans. But his body spoke plenty — shoulders hunching, fingers gripping tight, mouth open, eyes squeezed almost shut, arching himself _just_ so. The way he smelled, the way he tasted. Watching his face, the sweat rolling down his temple. Or further down, the way he slid in and out, _in and out_ of Adam’s clutching body.

It was hot as hell. And yeah, it stroked his ego having Adam react to him (and his dick) like this.

But it was also incredibly humbling. He hadn’t said it in so many words to Adam (yet), but he felt stupidly honored that he wanted to do this with _him_. That he was trusted enough to see (the way his toes curled) and to know (his ticklish stomach) him like this. These were secrets that Ronan guarded jealously. And he’d be god-fucking-damned if Adam was ever ashamed of feeling good.

On this particular Sunday, Ronan finished first. He was panting, shoulders dropped, almost collapsed on top of Adam, still pressing an occasional thrust like a kiss inside, fighting the tide of fatigue and nosing along his neck. But here was Adam was still strung tight and clinging. He turned his face to Ronan's ear. “Ronan—”

(When Adam said “Ronan,” he didn't mean "please.")

Ronan surged up and out, slinging one of Adam’s knees over his shoulder. This kind of treatment might not have been allowed if Adam brain cells were all still firing. As it was, all he got was a slight frown and a flushed face.

Ronan bent back down over him, taking his dick in one hand and pressing three fingers back where he was still wet and open. He took up a rhythm with both hands that was faster and rougher than normal, fingers seeking and finding again and again. With their faces pressed together, and Adam clutching painfully to his nape and shoulder, it felt achingly intimate.

Adam’s whole body pulled tight, and he got strangely quiet and still just before he came with a hiccuping gasp. Ronan worked him to the end of it, pressing kisses to his sweaty face.

He stayed hunched over Adam, giving him space while providing safe harbor. Adam’s breath slowed and sweat cooled. Ronan wiped his fingers on the crumpled sheets.

Adam huffed out a soft breath. “God, you’re good at that.” he said, cradling Ronan’s face in his hands and brushing his lips with a thumb.

Ronan nipped his thumb. “Don’t fucking blasphemy. It's the Sabbath.” Adam laughed for real and shoved him off to do a quick clean up and strip the sheets.

Before long, they were falling back into bed together. Adam cajoled him into rolling over so that he could press up along his back the way he liked.

Ronan preferred being the little spoon, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for listening to my small, passive-aggresive soapbox about the less popularly ficed about aspects of anal sex.


End file.
